~ two friends, two countries, food between.

Tag Archives: Spain

Today, my husband and I made our way into the biggish city of Palma, capital of Mallorca, with no real agenda but to grab a morning coffee, mill around town, and eventually get to our weekly grocery shopping. It was our first city outing in a while, as we usually avoid Palma during the summer/early fall months when it becomes a mecca for sangria hungry tourists. But today, with a half empty city before us – partly induced by looming grey clouds and already wet pavement/roads, we would do as the locals do and simply start the day by picking a cafe.

We settled on getting coffee at a place that I’ve taken quite a liking to. Horno Helvetico, oddly enough, is a Swiss cafe in the middle of the gothic area of Palma. Moreoever, as Sandra’s boyfriend Lolo deduced during their last visit here, I’m partial to the cafe because it more resembles a coffeehouse, an American concept and an anomaly in the Mediterranean countries of Europe. The place is quaint, rustic, and clean, with all cozy indoor seating. Their breads are beautiful, pastries flaky and nice, and coffee decent. Since we finished a gym session before the sun had fully risen, we delightfully rewarded ourselves with a couple of small fresh apple filled pastries and cafe con leche.

Despite the rain clouds, the weather was warm and humid. The absence of a strong sun made for a nice walk through the meandering cobblestone streets of the old city. Palma, like many other older and larger European cities, has evolved to become a bit of a hodgepodge of shops, restaurants, cafes and curiosities. The big designers, like LV and Carolina Herrera, are juxtaposed to stores such as Zara’s and shops that change names every few months but hock the same merchandise to unwitting tourists. Also in the mix are real locals shops, where either the Spanish language or good hand gesturing is needed and patience required to wait in line behind small elderly ladies posing a laundry list of questions to the cashier.

After an hour or so of aimless window shopping and waiting out one brief but heavy downpour, it was time for tapas. We headed to our favorite tapas bar, La Taberna el Burladero. The restaurant, like the coffeehouse, is a bit of an anomaly – employing a Spanish wait staff but a Filipino cook staff. Being a bit early for lunch, we encountered all empty tables. But it didn’t matter – it smelled good, looked good, and our stomachs were grumbling. Following a couple of pinchos (small pieces of bread topped with everything delicious) and a plate of lemon infused, olive oil doused sardines, our main course of braised oxtail arrived. Served on a bed of potatoes, peas and carrots, it was tender, meaty, perfectly salty and tasty.

When we finished and finally lifted our heads from being buried in the plates before us, we realized that the restaurant was completely packed and every table full. It was time for us to make our getaway from the restaurant crowd and the bustle of the city. The ultimate bliss from these small city trips derives from being able to retreat back to the quiet of our countryside village.

I learned this new fact about myself tonight after going to the Oktoberfest held annually on the Spanish island of Mallorca. The island hosts a couple of beer fests this month – one in the capital city of Palma and the other in the smaller village of Paguera. With the amount of Germans who choose Mallorca as their top holiday destination, the Spanish ensure that the parties are big and loud.

Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect of the evening, as I jumped into my friends’ car and we drove to Paguera – the next village over and a short distance down a semi-winding mountain road. As we made our way from the free parking lot into town, the outdoor restaurant patios and cafes were completely full; brightly lit shops selling everything from beach kitsch to leather jackets, were open late. But a change in seasons became evident with the slight chill of the night air and a dining and drinking crowd that was much older (a sea of white hair) than the kids frequenting the party scene of summer. Moreover, everyone seemed glued to a television screen watching football (i.e. soccer), which didn’t seem all that festive to me. Maybe it was my American misunderstanding of the importance of football?

But then, like a shining desert oasis, the Oktoberfest tent stood before us – glowing, pounding, thumping. Spanish written signs pointed patrons in the right direction and also praised the “auténtico espíritu” of Oktoberfest.

A sea of people – party-goers, kids, adults, grandmothers, smokers, teenagers, tattooed, lederhosen-donning, Heidi look-alikes, Spanish, German, British, and the other scattered few representing the rest of the world – all under one tent: dancing, eating, drinking, singing, and falling. One guy fell off his bench seat, backwards – twice! The band sang in all three languages, a mix of German and Spanish pop and classics (at least I think that’s what it was), good old American rock n’ roll, and 80s hair band covers. They even threw in YMCA, while the stage crew went wild with some lights and smoke machines. And it was loud. I couldn’t hear a thing my friends said/screamed, nor could I hear myself. Even now.

And of course… the food. The beer came in liter or half-liter sizes and the food came in super sized gargantuan portions as well. I had the codillo asado – a big piece of bbq’d pork leg (somewhat overcooked and a bit rubbery), that came with a heaping pile of excessively buttery mash potatoes and my new found love – sauerkraut. The sauerkraut, seasoned with whole peppercorns and bay leaves, differed from anything I’ve tasted before (and I’m referring to stateside sauerkraut in comparison): finely shredded, crunchier in texture, and pickled but not heavily vinegary in taste. I washed it down with a ginormous half liter of wheat beer, which I struggled to finish in the end. And since I have not had a beer in well over a year, this one was pretty refreshing. The Germans definitely know what they are doing as the surprisingly light but tasty beer paired really nicely with the extraordinarily heavy food.

All in all, Spanish Oktoberfest was like one big mess of a party, rather than any sort of reflection of German culture at its best. But, in the end – what’s a festival without a party?